A sudden chill runs the length of my spine, forcing me to perk up on the couch. His words seem to activate a strange desire within me, a secret urge I was hardly familiar with. A desire to be punished.
“Y—yes…” I say. His brows furrow. “I mean—yes, sir.” My pussy quivers at the thought. I want to say it. Need to say it. He has my permission to do with me as he pleases. Take me however he wants. “Yes! I’ll give you my body and everything else. Just—just forgive me, sir! please!”
“Then get undressed.”
I do as instructed, quickly and obediently.
“Wait,” he says. I freeze in place when my bra crumples to the floor beside my shirt. He grabs a cupful of naked breast and flicks at its hard, perky center. He watches me writhe in place as the tingling bursts of pleasure branch out to every nerve.
He pinches the stiff nipple between thumb and forefinger and gives it a rough twist.
“Agh!” The searing pain shoots through me and my knees wobble. I bite down hard on my bottom lip to stifle a scream, squinting as the soft tissue stretches around his fingers.
“Do you want me to stop?” Mr. Peterson grins, then twists harder.
“N—no, sir!” I manage through a gasp, doing my best to hide as much visible pain. He wants me to give in. Wants to prove that I’m not worthy of his forgiveness. But I am determined to accept his punishment.
My head tilts back and I grit my teeth behind pursed lips. I just want to scream. I don’t know if I can hold it in.
Then the pain subsides in a kind of wet, swirling pleasure. I look down to see Mr. Peterson’s lips seal around the areola. He stuffs the breast in his mouth and licks wildly on the nipple, slurping and sucking while he holds me against the hardness of his bare chest.
My back arches and I let out a long, deep moan. His arm wraps tight around the small of my back to hold me in place while my neck rolls to the electric sensation of his tongue.
His mouth peels off and my tit gleams with a dripping coat of saliva. Supple breasts heave above the soft billows of my stomach as I draw in slow, heavy breaths.
Wiping the spit from his mouth, he says, “Now take off your skirt.”
“S—sorry?” I immediately regret saying it. His amber eyes light up like a blaze of fire.
“My forgiveness does not come easy, and neither will your punishment.” He gives my breast a hard squeeze, his fingers threatening another excruciating twist of the nipple.
I shimmy out of the tiny skirt and stand before him with self-conscious hands fidgeting at my navel. Mr. Peterson snorts, looking me up and down, his eyes glossing over the flare of my hips, down to the white pumps I’m still wearing, and settling on my pink lace panties.
I’ve never felt so exposed.
“Now turn around, and bend over,” he says, lifting off his shirt. His voice is cold and callous.
There’s a long pause, and I quickly regret hesitating. With just one raised eyebrow, he compels me to obey. The ripples of his powerful torso flex with commanding authority. I know where this is going.
The truth is I desire to receive his punishment. In fact, I’ve never wanted anything so badly. To be taken by the man I am in love with, to be disciplined by his hand.
“Y-yes, sir.” It feels good to be so deliciously naughty.
His hand traces over the contours of my waist, gliding over the slender, pale curves as I turn and bend. I pinch my bottom lip with my teeth when the hand rolls over the taut skin of my perfect round ass. Then I let out a surprised yelp when he squeezes a handful-sized chunk.
“You’ve been a very naughty little girl, Maddie.”
My heart pounds in my chest when his fingers dip beneath the waist of my panties. He brings them down to mid-thigh in one sudden jerk, revealing the dripping sex between my legs.
A smooth, caressing hand rolls over my ass cheeks, sending a chill up my spine that raises the tiny hairs at the back of my neck. My eyelids droop in resignation of the coming punishment.
SMACK!
The whip-cracking sound of his palm landing square against my ass is followed by the long, deep moan of air expelling itself from my lungs. My pussy flutters to the stinging pain crawling up my backside.
SMACK!
“Ungh!” My shoulders spasm to the force of his next blow against the other cheek. What was once a pale shade is now a colorful pink. My hips writhe to the sharp tingling pleasure.
He unleashes a flurry of spanks, each one more potent than the last. My manicured fingernails dig deep into the skin of my knees while I clutch them for balance. My face contorts between shrill moans, punctuated by the resounding slap of skin against skin.
At last, he gives pause. The residual tingles of pain cause me to whimper in tiny squeaks between heavy, rapid breaths. What was at first a rosy pink discoloration is a stained red and purple marking of his handiwork.
My eyes shoot wide when two fingers slip between my legs.
“I don’t fucking believe it!” Mr. Peterson scoffs. “Is this making you wet?” It’s true. His relentless spanks have turned my quivering pussy into a mess of fluids. His fingers pad around the dripping desire seeping down my thighs.
“I knew a dirty little slut like you would require a harsher punishment.” I squeal when he swipes across my ass hard enough to make me stumble forward. “Don’t move.”
“Yes, sir.”
I wouldn’t dare disobey him now. I don’t know what he has in mind, but I’d only make it worse by moving. So I do as instructed and remain frozen in place until he returns.
“Spread your ass cheeks apart.”
“M—Mister Peterson?”
“Now.”
“Yes, sir.”
I reach around and curl slender fingers between my crack. “Like—like this?” I spread my ass cheeks wide and await whatever is coming with a sort of perverse eagerness.
My ass clenches out of reflex when a warm liquid slicks down my crack, coating my puckered anus. Mr. Peterson lands a hard blow against a raw cheek, the hardest one yet. Tears well in my eyes and roll over flushed cheeks.
“Keep them spread, Maddie.”
“S-sorry—I mean—yes, sir.”
I peel the cheeks apart again, fighting my own instinct to keep them shut, my trembling knees doing their best to support me.
Tiny goosebumps raise on the surface of my skin at the sound of his pants unzipping. My pussy clenches when I feel the bulbous head of his cock circling the slick, puckered entrance of my asshole.
I fling my head back, tossing my long hair onto the sheen of sweat of my arched back. His dick pushes into me, the tight, oil coated walls giving way to the pressure.
My echoing wails fill the room when his cock slips into my ass. The thorough lubrication softens the pain, but only a little. Somehow, I manage to keep my cheeks spread, fighting through the urge to let my arms fall limp.
The girth of him spreads my insides. The thick, long shaft continues its penetration into the depths of my ass. My head rolls to the odd pleasure of him entering me entirely.
My hips lift on their own, writhing against Mr. Peterson’s hard abdomen while his balls tap my slit. The pain is a distant afterthought, shadowed by a heat of building pleasure deep in my core.
My ass rock against him, taking him in whole as my tongue darts to the corner of my mouth. The sensation of his cock is a new kind of stimulation unlike anything I’ve put up my ass before. Nothing else could fill me so completely.
My insides shudder to the push and tug of his enormous cock. My legs begin to quake. His hands clutch the sides of my waist while he plumbs my anal cavity, sending me into a fit of desperate moaning, ready to embrace the coming orgasm.
But he pushes himself out of me by the waist. I make an audible pout, raising my hips in search of his cock.
I feel it again when it slides down my crack, the throbbing pulse beating between the wet folds of my aching pussy.
“Agh!” Mr. Peterson moans when I arch my hips and he slips insi
de, my tight walls contracting around his stiffness. He unloads another round of quick strikes against my ass to punish me for my disobedience. But I fight through the pain of it, pushing backward all the way to the hilt.
When my tightness squeezes around the entire length, the sensation is too much for him to continue. His arms wrap around my middle instead and he begins a series of quick, impaling thrusts.
My head tilts back and I moan out. My body jerks back and forth to the power of his rhythmic humps. The muscles of my core contract and flutter with Mr. Peterson balls deep inside my pussy.
“Fuck! Fuck!” He groans and grabs a handful of tit in each hand. I squirm beneath him, bucking my hips and grinding on his massive cock.
My heart flutters before the surge of orgasmic energy flows out to each extremity. The walls of my pussy contract and spasm, shooting hot waves of ecstasy through my entire body.
I’m still twitching underneath him, lost in the sensual fog of my own climax when Mr. Peterson reaches his own.
His hands tighten like vises around my breasts while he ejaculates a thick load of spunk into my uterus. I can feel the pounding of his heart against my back, the chiseled muscles of his chest digging in as his whole body convulses on top me.
Endless spurts of hot cum fill my insides. Our bodies spasm together and we moan in unison. My back peels away from his chest and my hips work to milk the massive load from his dick.
I can’t hold myself up and longer. My knees buckle and I fall forward onto the carpet floor, a white string of semen trailing out from my pussy and trickling off Mr. Peterson’s engorged head.
I continue twitching on the ground with my ass in the air, the aftershocks of an incredible orgasm still coursing through me as I try to recover my breath.
“Well then…” The tip of Mr. Peterson’s cock glistens with his seed. “I’d say that about covers at least a couple hundred of what you owe me.”
A couple hundred? But I’d run up at least five thousand in credit card debt.
“I expect you back tomorrow for the next round of punishment.”
Tomorrow? My ass is already so sore. I won’t be sitting down for a week as it is.
So why do I still want more?
“Yes, sir.”
Letting Him Finish Inside
I've always been an excellent motivational speaker. Especially when I've got a big cock in my mouth. It's harder to talk when I'm choking on some guy's dick down my esophagus, but it gets easier with practice.
"You can do it!" I'll say in gargled words, tickling his scrotum and encouraging him to cum deep in my throat. They seem to be pretty motivated after I do that. I've yet to find a guy with such a lack of motivation that he won't cum for me.
I remember giving a motivational speech in my college class last semester. Everyone seemed really engaged and focused on what I was saying. But looking around, I realized that I'd blown every guy in the class. Turns out they were just staring at my tits.
I really get a kick out of helping people find their motivation. And it really doesn't take much. Sometimes all I have to do is flash my tits. Other times, if the guy is really struggling, I'll take it up the ass. I pride myself in having a one hundred percent success rate.
Usually all it takes is a quality blowjob from yours truly.
The group sessions are always the most successful. I've found that I can motivate five guys all at once. One in each hand, one in each hole. It's a regular group therapy session. A fuck fest of inspiration.
Then I let them unload all that pent up anxiety right on to my tits. Or in my ass, whichever they prefer. A man with a healthy load is a man who is going places. It's my job to get them there.
Keeping all that cum backed up is too much of a distraction. My job is to relieve men of that distraction. If letting a guy drill me from behind while he holds my supple tits or giving him head underneath his office desk is what it takes, then I'm the one willing to do it.
Some would call that being a slut. I call it being good at what I do.
But it's my job, after all. Guys come to me when they need a little boost. A little encouragement to get them going. A nice, sloppy blowjob really does wonders for a guy who hasn't gotten any in a long time. Most guys I work with, I do feel a little sorry for. After a little favor from me, he'll be ready to take on the world. Nothing pleases me more than to get a helpless man up off his feet. Of course, the money doesn't hurt either.
But now I am facing my most difficult client. To be fair, he is more than just a client. He's a man I trust and care about. A man who helped raise me when my parents were never around. The man I love--my neighbor, Mr. Thompson
He has really been down in the dumps recently. I've never seen him so depressed. His wife left him for another man a year ago. Then he just his job six months later, and I don't think he's even been looking for a new one. He used to be such a happy man. He would always do his best to make me feel happy when I was a kid.
Now that I'm nineteen, I want to do what I can to help him. I want to show Mr. Thompson what I can do for him with my body. I've never had a client I couldn't turn around. And I do not accept failure--ever.
And I'll be damned if Mr. Thompson will be my first. I owe him too much. The least I can do is use my talents of inspiration to help him out of this rut.
The man probably hasn't been laid in years. It's not like his wife was giving him any before she left. I miss the old Mr. Thompson. I want my happy neighbor back.
Which is why Mr. Thompson is the only man I would ever dream of letting cum inside my pussy. If getting knocked up is what it's going to take to pull him out of depression, then that's what I'll have to do.
Once I'm pregnant, he'll have no choice but to turn himself around for the sake of our child. Then he'll finally be happy again.
He'll raise our kid like he raised me. His life will be full of laughter again. There's nothing I wouldn't give to get the old Mr. Thompson back.
I've tried all the techniques that have always worked in the past, but he seems to always refuse my advances. I know he's playing dumb. He probably just doesn't know how to think of me as a sexual being after so many years raising me as a kid.
So lately I've been spending a lot of time at his house. Hell, I may as well be living there at this point. Just last night when I walked in on him getting into the shower I straight up told him that he could fuck me.
The poor guy almost slipped on the wet tile floor when he reacted to me coming in without anything on.
"Can I join you?" I asked him casually. Mr. Thompson just looks perplexed. I couldn't help giggling at the sight of him grabbing a hand towel from the nearest rack to cover his dick.
But he couldn't fool me, I saw him getting hard. The tip of it was peeking over the top of the little white cloth before I stepped in closer.
"What the--Cammy, what the hell?" He was hunched over, trying to hide his growing erection behind the little towel.
"Mr. Thompson... I want to help you."
"Cammy, I'm naked here!"
"Do you know what I do for a living?" I smirked.
"Yeah... you're a motivational speaker." I couldn't help laughing. Water droplets fell from his furrowed brows wondering what the hell I was getting at.
"But do you know how I motivate people?" He just stared blankly, shaking his head. "You don't make the kind of money I do with just words, silly." I giggled. But for him I work for free. I took a few bold steps toward Mr. Thompson.
His thick arm muscles bulged as he gripped tight around the cloth to cover himself-- I could see the subtle twitch of a pulsing vein along his bicep. Mr. Thompson is totally ripped.
He may be depressed, but he still hits the gym almost every day. And his body shows it. He is built like an athlete.
"Which is why I am going to let you fuck me." Mr. Thompson shook his head in disbelief. "In any hole you want." I smirked, tugging down on my cut off jeans enough to expose my trimmed pubes.
I bit down on my lower lip,
dropping my eyelids and honing in on Mr. Thompson's engorged cock. I shook my ass a bit as I slipped the shorts and panties down my legs. Then they dropped to my ankles and I giggled.
I took another step forward, getting close enough to press an index finger between his bulging pecs. I traced the finger along his sternum, taking a long path across his chest and over his six-pack. Mr. Thompson jerked away from me when I dove the hand behind his tiny towel to grope at his dick.
"Cammy! What're you--" He turned to the side, raising the towel a little higher to cover the tip but exposing his balls in the process. I giggled at the sight of his balls hanging below the towel.
Over the Couch Page 32